


Home is Where the House is

by orphan_account



Series: BMBLB Week 2018 [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: BumblebyWeek, F/F, aaaaah im bad at tags, bmblbweek, it looks like angst but it isn't promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 14:22:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What is home? My favorite definition is "a safe place," a place where one is free from attack, a place where one experiences secure relationships and affirmation. It's a place where people share and understand each other. Its relationships are nurturing. The people in it do not need to be perfect; instead, they need to be honest, loving, supportive, recognizing a common humanity that makes all of us vulnerable.Day 3 -- Domestic





	Home is Where the House is

**Author's Note:**

> Another almost late entry! But I still have time on my part of the country, I swear!

What exactly qualifies something to be considered a home? Perhaps this isn't a question that is actually meant to be answered. Some might describe it as a place where you go when you run out of homes. Others might call it the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. One might describe home as not a place, but simply an irrevocable condition.

And others, yet still, would call it a person.

But even they would understand that, when you find a home in another, there is nothing more special than finding a place hat you could call your own. A recess from the rest of the world that you can call your own. A house, yes, but a home as well.

This home in particular was framed by a yard, as so many others are. However a distinct age decorated both it and the house that was discernible to even the most unfamiliar onlooker. 

The grass had overgrown throughout the whole of the yard, and weeds were finding their own homes in the cobblestones leading up to the porch. They seemed to be well-watered at least, though otherwise so little cared for that it only stands to reason that the sprinklers are exceptionally active.

The porch as well was in a similar state of disarray. The wooden frame of the structure was decorated in a thin layer of peeling paint, exposing the material underneath to both passers by and the elements. It would be impossible to say when the last time this house actually had a proper paint job, assuming that it's last one was proper to begin with. 

A small pile of newspapers had begun to accumulate in the small nook just beside the door. Whoever provided them had exceptional aim if they were able to land them in the same place so consistently, though clearly they had little care for the actual status of the papers, so long as they were being paid.

Just past the door and in the home, there was a distinct stillness in the air, the kind of thing you'd feel in a liminal space. It didn't quite feel as grounded in it's own reality as you are. A series of photographs littered the walls, each one depicting in some capacity, a happy couple. Two women: A beaming blonde and a raven-haired faunus, neither of whom seeming as though there is any place they'd rather be then with each other. A faint layer of dust was growing on them all, not yet able to obscure the images of their subjects or the emotions behind theme, but enough to be noticeable on the otherwise pleasant scenes that each one of them painted.

By the door itself was a large pile of letters, magazines, and other postage, absentmindedly shoved through the mail slot with little regard for the fact that none of them had been claimed in some time.The pile was arguably a mountain in and of itself, as dozens of handwritten letters from friends and loved ones filled the spaces between computer-issued messages and orders.

Just off the entrance hall and on the opposite side of the stairs sat the dining room, a large and sparsely decorated room that probably only saw proper use during special occasions, with friends or family.

The main table sad simply in the center of the room, several chairs placed carefully underneath it, with only two being out of place, one at the head of the table and one at it's side. They sat askew, having been pulled out with no thought as to replacing them.

Two small cabinets sat in the corners of the room, each one filled with shiny finery and china, their glass cages being the only things protecting them from the same field of dust as the other items in the room.

The dining room opened further into the kitchen, from which the only actual sound in the house was emanating from. 

The soft hum of the refrigerator wasn't enough to fill the house, but when there is nothing else to guide the ear it stands out like a beacon of light in the darkness. Stuck to the metal frame of the fridge were two photographs, kept in place with small magnetic bumblebees. The first was a photo of the two girls from the hall, as well as a girl in red, and one in white. Team RWBY. Just below it was a similar photo, belonging to family. Team STRQ.

Dishes were piled haphazardly in the sink, having soaked for so long that some of them have almost certainly lost their quality. 

Evidence of experience, or perhaps a lack thereof, was also obvious throughout the room. Remnants from many a failed attempt at cooking were evident in the stains on the wall that never quite seemed to wash out. the scratches on the counter, from poorly handled cutlery, and even burns on the stove from that time they forgot the head was on.

After a quick skip pass the hall once more we find the most lived in part of the dwelling. The living room, the den, the family room... Whatever name it was called, it was certainly an apt descriptor.

Shelves lined the walls, dressed in various knick knacks and mementos that reminded them both of their homes before one another. More photographs, some of other faunus, some of friends. All of family. 

Prominently and in the center of the room was a couch. One large enough to hold four people comfortably. Though it's owners never seemed to care for such a recommendation. The couch was clearly lopsided, slouching downwards just a hair on the far right, accompanied by a large worn-out spot on the respective cushion, from where the two of them shared the seat.

The room also had a clear view of the hallway back towards the door, and it offered a view that might not be easily visible were you looking at it from the beginning. Once again, through either time or simply a poor job, the paint was showing signs of peeling, enough to indicate that this had been happening for some time. There were even a few dried flakes having since fallen to the floor patiently waiting to be removed.

The stairs seemed to be in a decent condition, at least, and were even joined by a mural on the wall, continuing the bumblebee motif that had been started elsewhere in the home. Luckily it seemed as though the paint here had been applied better than elsewhere, and it showed signs of standing the test of time, even if the rest of the paint chose not to.

The upstairs hall was sparely furnished, having little to no decorations of it's own, in stark contrast to the well decorated entryway just a few feet below. All the doors were shut tightly, save for the final one at the very end of the hall.

The door was left open, revealing it's secrets to all who chose to enter.

It was devoid of people, though clearly used. Bedsheets and blankets were strewn about around, the bed not having been made since it's last use. A beam of natural light from the window illuminated the room, though served little actual purpose aside from highlighting the columns the dust in the air.

The door downstairs flung open, and a ruby red voice could be heard calling out to the empty home in a panic. It started with a groan, and quickly devolved into an almost incomprehensible mess with how fast she seemed able to speak. "Oh man! Yang wanted me to clean while she was on her honeymoon! Ugh! How am I supposed to get all of this done in time?"

Another voice, this one sharper and more composed soon joined it. "That's why you roped me into this, isn't it, you dolt. Honestly I don't know how you keep talking me into these things. You know this wouldn't even be a problem in the first place if you actually paid attention to your responsibilities."

There was another groan. "I knoooooow. But I promise I'll make it up to you! I wouldn't be a good team leader if I didn't do that, right?"

Weiss dismissed the notion with a brief "tsh," though she was clearly amused at the younger woman's earnestly. "Just make sure your sister actually gets this place painted. She did a horrible job on it."

A happy bark joined the duo at their feet, and quickly ran somewhere in the home, outside of the view of the two women.

**Author's Note:**

> Like before, commentary and/or criticism is always appreciated.


End file.
